


The Golden State

by MissMagenta92



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Age Difference, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Divergent, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prostitution, Romance, Slow Burn, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-02 05:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMagenta92/pseuds/MissMagenta92
Summary: At age 27, Arthur Morgan had become a problem for John Marston. He no longer looks at him like he used to when they were younger. After a night of celebrating a good score (as well as downing a bottle of bourbon), John decides to confront him about how he feels.





	1. Hole in My Head, Pain in Your Neck

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone; I know I have fics that need finishing but I couldn't get this one out of my head and just needed to write it down- I just need these two to be happy, dammit!
> 
> The title and the lyrics come from a song called The Golden State by Pearl Jam: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFo4U4uDaeg
> 
> Please note I don't own any part of the Red Dead Redemption fandom, nor the song itself- I just really love both and thought the song fitted this couple perfectly. Also it kind of begins as being underage, but John is of age when he begins to become sexual with others; just didn't know how to tag it properly. Abigail is more like John's best friend in all of this (as well as a straight up fantastic lady). Here we just have two idiots who can't get out of their heads and just let themselves love eachother; please note that I have no beta so if it's riddled with grammatical errors or spelling mistakes then that's why. If there's any tags I've missed, please don't hesitate to let me know.
> 
> If you enjoy it then please feel free to drop a comment as I love to read them.

You _are the hole in my head_

_I am the pain in your neck_

It was when Arthur Morgan had turned 27 where he had become a problem for John Marston.

He remembered getting picked up by Dutch and Hosea when he tried taking a few cans of fruit, some money and a horse from a couple of homesteaders in god knows where. By that stage, he was already hardened from life in the orphanage and on the streets, doing what he could to survive. The way Dutch and Hosea talked those people out of having him swing from the highest tree was something of a fine art, and despite how much he kicked, screamed and tried to wrestle his way out in the beginning, he's been grateful to them ever since for becoming his family.

For making Arthur become his family too.

Arthur back then was a sullen 22 year old, pissed off at the world and quick to draw a gun when threatened. It took a little while but he became like an older brother to John. While Dutch taught him how to read and appreciate the finer things in life and Hosea to fish and pull off a con, Arthur taught him how to shoot, hunt, defend himself and survive out in the wild, no matter which way their luck had turned. Even when a wolf had attacked him while they were hiding from the law, it was Arthur who tended to his wounds. As time went on, he felt his own hard exterior begin to soften around Arthur, having seen a side of him that wasn't just cold and surly and the two bonded over being a part of a family that resembled a mismatched patchwork more than fine threads woven together. Around him, he felt like he belonged, which was something his life had been missing for the four years he was on his own.

He was such a contradiction; a man who had absolutely no qualms about robbing people blind or shooting anyone who posed a threat, but who would help others in need and work for hours, drawing the scenery and people around them. There was a warm inner core that mirrored his hard exterior and John was drawn in like a moth to a flame. Arthur Morgan, the artist and the outlaw.

However, Arthur became a problem when he first brought Mary Gillis back to camp.

John himself was 17 at the time and couldn't for the life of him figure out why everyone, Dutch included, thought that the sun shone out of her arse. Even Ms Grimshaw, who was weathered by her years alongside Dutch and ready to bite off a head on a good day, thought she was a nice girl and reprimanded him for giving her the cold shoulder. There was just something about her that he didn't like, despite all of her niceties and tiptoeing around the angsty teen.

Maybe it was the way Arthur didn't have as much time to take him out hunting like they used to. Maybe it was the way they openly sucked face at camp. He couldn't pinpoint it until he heard a few suspect groans coming from Arthur's tent one night.

At first, he could distinguish that Mary was on the receiving end of pleasure that the older men in camp would wink and nudge each other about after a trip into a town with a saloon. He wasn't totally ignorant as to what went on in those rooms upstairs, but those sounds filling his ear canals also sent a mix of jealousy and arousal to his groin as they went on.

Arthur really became a problem when it was his turn to gasp and moan; he tried to keep as quiet as he could, but John hung on to every sound coming out of that tent. Those sounds that turned his eyes to pinpricks with a glaring realisation: John wasn't mad at Mary. John was mad because it should've been him in that tent, coaxing those beautiful sounds out of the older man, not her.

He took his cock shamefully in his hand, thinking of all the ways he could've been the one to making him groan as she was, all the while trying to will away the guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach. While he didn't have any experience to speak of, Arthur would make a wonderful teacher by the sounds of things. He trusted him more than anyone else in the camp...they'd been raised like brothers, but more and more now he found himself taking in just how damn beautiful the man was. That body, scarred by past scrapes and kissed by the sun. Those eyes, hiding a pain he couldn't put his finger on. Everything in his mind was telling him how wrong it was, that Arthur would find him disgusting if he knew but he couldn't shake the feeling of need just spreading throughout his body. It was the first of many nights he'd be holed up in his tent, tugging away at the thought of him and Arthur together, and with each night, he could feel his shame moving towards just longing to be together, only to have disappointment remind him that they weren't.

The day Mary left camp, John had a feeling of glee that he couldn't quite explain- she hadn't said a bad word to him in all the time she was there, but just the fact that she was gone filled him with relief. However, once he saw Arthur, heartbroken and withdrawn, guilt spread throughout his system like a poison for wanting her gone.

John couldn't pinpoint exactly how long it was that Arthur just shut himself off from the rest of the camp, but it felt like weeks at least. Unless he was being called out for stew or responding to a plan about a job, he barely spoke more than two words to anyone. The look in his eyes was like the colour had been washed out of them as he retreated back to his tent. No matter how hard John tried to coax him out with dominoes, a job or even riding away and going hunting, he wouldn't budge, his sadness buried in him like a tick.

Weeks bled into months, months bled into years. While Arthur had begun to pick up and be present within the gang again, he still seemed to be keeping John at arm's length intentionally, which hurt like barbs in the skin. He was amazed by how lonely he felt surrounded by people when the only one he wanted seemed to push him away whenever he tried to get closer.

He was 18 when Abigail Roberts joined the Van Der Linde Gang and it was soon that he finally tried to do something about his loneliness, after one too many whiskeys between her and himself one night. When he had tumbled into bed with her and finished with Arthur's name on his lips rather than hers, fear slithered up his spine and wrapped around his lungs.

He remembered how she looked at him; first with absolute astonishment, followed by a softer, sincere look of just knowing what he'd been hiding.

"You love him, don't you?"

One of the things he loved about her was the fact that she was no fool; she'd been a working girl for a long time up to that point and had seen many men come through the saloon doors who had a point to prove and urges to suppress. While he had been an enthusiastic albeit inexperienced partner, she also knew that the heart wanted what it wanted and that there were worse things in the world than a man pining for another man.

He didn't know whether he wanted to vomit, cry or hug her while she reassured him that she was not one to snitch, that she didn't think any less of him and that his feelings weren't as uncommon as he thought. It was also as if his secret was the seed that bloomed a friendship with Abby.

He was now 19 and it was now getting dark at camp. Hosea had received a tip about a job that had turned out to be not only genuine, but rather lucrative- $3000 and a stack of jewellery from some fancy-pants banker on his way out of Blackwater. The camp was abuzz with excitement over a good score that had the added bonus of no one getting hurt and drinks were being passed out left and right.

"Everyone! Let's celebrate like kings tonight for our wonderful work in Blackwater! Cheers!" Dutch proclaimed from his soapbox, raising his bottle to the gang. John, like many of the others, took a deep swig from his bottle of Kentucky bourbon, opting to take a seat around the campfire and listen to the singalong beginning to brew, courtesy of the girls. Some were in little conversations left and right, a game of Five Finger Fillet had popped up (not a great idea to do when you're drunk, at least not in John's book) and all the while, he could feel his attention drawing back to Arthur who was quietly scribbling in his journal, nursing an ale.

The man always had the ability to pull him in somehow; John could very happily spend his time just studying the man with his brow furrowed, writing down some account of what had gone down that day, If the law ever found that thing, they'd probably all hang, but he guarded it as if it were more precious than any jewel he could steal. John could feel his mind beginning to travel into the territory of wondering what he wrote about in there and if he ever wrote about him, if he ever thought about him in the same way that John did.

"This seat taken?" Abigail asked, snapping John out of his daze.

"Not at all," John gestured towards the space next to him while she smoothed out her skirt and sat down. "That was some fine work you did out there today, Abigail."

She smiled. "Why thank you! I'd like to think I ain't half bad at being bait for clueless bankers. All that education and he couldn't pick up that he was gettin' played."

The pair chuckled, taking sips from their drinks as one song ended and the next began. John's eyes kept moving back towards Arthur, still working on his journal entry, keeping to himself. He could feel himself longing for him, swallowing back some despair over the distance that had come between them.

"You should go talk to him." Abigail said out of earshot of the others.

It was completely out of the question. "Nope, mm-mhm. Not gonna happen."

"John Marston, you are stubborn as a damn bull." Abigail responded incredulously. "What's the worst that could happen? At least a little talking's better than none, right?"

He didn't respond, just opting to stand up, taking his bourbon in the direction of the trees surrounding camp. Abigail sat back, shaking her head at just how silly he was being, brooding over this man but not wanting to do a damn thing to stop it. Perhaps if she just gave them a tiny nudge in the right direction....

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't notice the set of blue eyes that had moved from their journal to the young man, wandering away from the party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John stood at the edge of the creek, taking in the moonlight bouncing off of the calm tides just rolling up onto the riverbank, trying to ignore his feelings as he drank. At this point, he was hoping it would dull his senses and by extension, his pain but somehow, tonight it had only been amplified. Deep down he just wanted Arthur to look at him, to see him, to see how much he was missed and how much he was cared for, even though Mary had gone. The more he look out towards the water, the more he could feel despair spreading through his veins like rattlesnake venom.

What he wouldn't give just to have Arthur even just look at him these days...it seemed like he was actively avoiding making eye contact with the young man for a reason he couldn't put his finger on, like all of a sudden he woke up and decided he didn't like John anymore and wouldn't give him a reason why. Sure they ran together on jobs and whatnot, but it wasn't even about not being able to be with the man in that way; he missed the closeness they once had. Arthur had taught him everything he needed to be an outlaw and survive off the grid as they did. They never seemed to be alone together and it was starting to play on his mind as he could feel the drink go to his head- was this distance intentional and if so, why?

It felt like he'd abandoned him while staying in the same camp.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he never heard the crack of leaves and twigs underfoot as Arthur walked up behind him.

"Marston...you're missing out on one helluva party there." Arthur said, unaware of the hurt bubbling up in John.

"What do you care?" John spat out far more harshly than he intended.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "The hell's gotten into you?"

Arthur couldn't understand; the job had gone well. Their cuts were pretty generous. No one was hurt. The whole plan went like clockwork. Why was the young man all coiled up and hissing?

John turned around with an expression of misery on his face that could not only be seen but _felt_ in the moonlight. "Why don't you look at me anymore?"

The elder man racked his brains for an explanation. "Hell do you mean, Marston?"

It was like waving a red rag at a bull. "See that, ' _Marston_ '..." His surname came out as a hiss more than words. "It's like you can't even stand to use my actual name anymore, like you're always trying to push me away." As he spoke, he raised his bottle up towards his face, jerking it around with little care for how much was spilling out.

Arthur brought his hand up to his mouth, rubbing around his cheeks to the back of his head. He could feel like deep down, he knew this was coming, he just didn't want to confront it.

"I'm sorry, John, I..."

Before he had a chance to collect his words, John was off on a tirade. "What's wrong with me? What did I do to make you avoid me so much? We used to be so close and when she came to camp, it's like you didn't have time for me anymore. I'm not some fucking kid anymore, I've killed before, with you. We've seen eachother do some truly despicable shit in our time so I just don't know what I've done that's so bad that you don't want to be around me. What did I do?"

 _'You didn't do anything,'_ Arthur thought. _'It's me I don't trust.'_ No words came out, but Arthur could see that John was mere inches away from him.

John tried his hardest to keep his words from coming out as a sob. He reached out, holding the side of Arthur's face to force eye contact between the two. His voice had crept down to a whisper. "Why can't you look at me like you used to? I love you....and you can't even look at me anymore. Just give me the fucking time of day, will ya?"  
  
With that John closed the space between them with a searing kiss that was equal parts frustration and adoration. Arthur could feel his chest wanting to do ignite at John's confession- _love_. The thing he didn't think he could find again after Mary. The thing he didn't think he deserved at all. The thing that deep down, he wanted the absolute most from the young man kissing him. And the thing he had to protect this same young man from.  
  
He was drawn in by the warmth of it especially; it wasn't an attack of teeth and tongue but something far more yearning, more needy, like John had been sitting on these feelings for a while. As much as he wanted to just let go and fall into the kiss with the same passion as John had, something gnawed at his brain to pull away.

"I can't..." Arthur managed, voice laden with guilt.

"Why not? Why?" John asked.

"It ain't right...." Arthur responded, not entirely believing it.

John stepped forward, leaning his forehead against Arthur's, breathing him in. He could feel the older man lean into it, telling him that he wasn't quite ready to leave. Why was he fighting him on this when it was clear that he didn't really want it to end?

"Why can't you let me in?" John whispered.

Arthur clenched his eyes shut, choking back everything he wanted to say. He wanted to tell him that he couldn't remember a time where he didn't adore John, how his feelings of familiarity became respect and then later love. He wanted to tell him that he had struggled with this for a long time, not wanting to scare the boy or be inappropriate with him. He wanted to tell him that he'd seen him develop from a petulant child to a strong young man and that that change, along with the feelings he developed along with it, terrified him. He wanted to tell him that he was so terrified of losing him that it was part of why he couldn't leave the camp, no matter how hard Mary begged. He wanted to tell him that he didn't feel like he deserved John at all, after all of the awful things he has done in his life just to survive and for all of the feelings he had toward him to begin with.

Instead, he opted for whispering "Please, John....just leave me be. We can't. You can't. You can do a lot better than me."

Before the younger man could respond, he turned around, walking back towards camp feeling like he'd just cut a part of himself off and left it by the riverbank. He tried so hard to swallow back the feeling of his heart breaking all over again- the camp couldn't know the truth. John just stood, staring at the older man walk away, feeling like he'd ripped out his heart and was taking it with him. It took everything for both men not to scream at the stars with just how fucking unfair it all was.


	2. Lump in My Throat, Aching in Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur thinks about the night before, all the way back to when John had first started to become a problem for him. He then decides to bury his feelings in Valentine with a working girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am completely overwhelmed with the response that my story has gotten- colour me completely flattered! All of the lovely comments have spurred me on to pump out this chapter so please, keep them coming if you love reading about these two idiots needing to work through their feelings.
> 
> Again, sorry for any spelling/grammar errors.

 Y _ou are the lump in my throat_

_I am the aching in your heart_

Arthur Morgan couldn't remember how old he was when John Marston first became a problem for him, because he couldn't remember a time where he didn't feel some sort of affection for him.

Tonight by the riverbank was almost enough to knock him on his arse; thankfully everyone was too drunk to notice him storming back to his tent, trying not to let anyone see the heartbreak and confusion brewing inside of him. John had just told him he'd loved him. While on paper, that should've meant that he was over the moon with joy, he couldn't shake the feeling that John deserved so much better than himself. He was angry that Arthur had been pushing him away and had done nothing but push him away further...but it was so much better than having him get hurt.

He didn't know if he'd had these unnatural urges all his life or if they started to grow when John started to. He remembered being young, having Lyle beat him so heavily for what seemed like no reason...Perhaps the old man could see what he was before Arthur knew what he was. As he grew older, he found himself staring at men just as much as he stared at women.

He just rolled up into his cot, facing away from the rest of the camp, lest he start crying or something- he tried to lull himself to sleep, but his mind would not be silent with memories of John and the emotions they all dredged up.

If he had to pick an age where John had well and truly been a problem, he'd have to go with 16. If he was honest with himself, he couldn't remember a time where he didn't feel that way, but that was the age where he began to recognise it.

They'd tried to rob this stately manor just outside Saint Denis, only it'd gone completely pear shaped. The owner was not only armed to the teeth, but he was well connected with the Sheriff, so they'd shown up within a manner of minutes. The gang had no choice but to split up, let the law chase their tail for a little while and come out when they'd retreated.

Arthur and John had found refuge in the hollow of a cave out by Blackwater Marsh, just near the mouth of the swamp where it met the sea. A quick inspection of it showed that there were no gators around to bother them, so they holed up for the night.

Arthur could remember, it was a freezing night and John was shivering like a leaf in the wind. The boy had hardly any meat on him, he was so thin. 

"Look, you get in my bedroll, keep yourself warm. I'll set yours up, sleep in that for the night, alright?"

The two separate rolls did absolutely nothing to stop John from shivering; the boy was cold through a few layers of skin, apparently.

"Can't I get in with you?" John pleaded.

Arthur relented after some deliberation; they'd warm up faster if they shared close quarters and if he was being honest with himself, he was pretty cold too. The only thing was he was also being dishonest with himself, trying to think that their mutual warmth was the only reason he welcomed him into the bedroll like he did.

Arthur clenched his eyes shut at the memory.

He crawled in, huddling into Arthur's chest. Arthur wrapped his arms around the boy, trying to help him stop shivering like he did, only he couldn't ignore just how nice it felt to have him in his arms. He could feel that while he was thinner than Arthur was, he was starting to get rather muscular. His body was sporting a multitude of scars that he'd incurred from years on the lam with them and he couldn't help but feel like they weren't ugly by any means, they were landmarks in the map of him. His smell was magnetic, just drawing Arthur in close and closer and in the dead of night, while he could feel John's chest rise and fall in the midst of sleep, Arthur prayed to anything and everything out there that his body wouldn't betray him.

' _He's only a boy and you're filth for feeling this way._ ' his mind kept going, the shame stinging him like the barb in a scorpion's tail.

By the time morning came, he said very little to John, still rattled by how he felt during the night. He blamed his lack of sleep on 'just keeping watch for the law', but the truth was a longing had been planted within him, along with a deep sense of shame that sprouted like a damn weed. That night, when he bit down on whining John's name after finishing all over his own hands, he felt like a complete scoundrel for lusting over a boy ten years his junior. Maybe he really was a degenerate.

He found Mary Gillis one night and it was safe to say that he did love her, reasonably. She was a nice girl, good looking, loyal...he was happy with her. When they first met and started riding together, she warded away the unnatural thoughts he had of John for a while. He'd hoped bringing her to the camp would mean that they'd be gone while she was around, but they crept back in like the morning light through his tent. 

It didn't help that she had the same dark hair that John did. Each night when they made love in his tent, he couldn't stop his mind from wondering how John would look with his mouth around Arthur's cock, how he'd look with Arthur buried inside him, what kind of sounds he could pull out of him. A few times, he found himself flipping Mary onto her knees, wishing he could marry up his reality with fantasy. It was the only real way he could stop himself from seeking out male company, like at the Stag in Saint Denis that he'd sought out when he was younger.

Things came to an end when she could no longer stomach just how the gang afforded their lifestyle, at least that was what she told him through the tears in her eyes. Somehow it felt like there was a little more behind it, like she figured out who it was he was thinking about when they were together. She'd made the decision to leave the gang once and for all and had given Arthur an ultimatum.

"Please Arthur, we're better than this...you're better than this. We deserve much more. We can get some honest work in Saint Denis, make a little money, get a house somewhere...."

She was scrambling for any reason to pull Arthur away from the only family he'd ever truly known and for that, he was just glued to the same spot for what felt like hours, trying to contemplate the gravity of what she was asking. He could say that he loved her, that he cared for her, but he was anchored to the gang whether he wanted to be or not. While John was there and still breathing, he didn't want to leave him. He couldn't live with himself if he just up and left like that.

He remember he had her hands in his as he felt his words cut his throat on their way out of him.

'I'm so sorry, Mary...I love you, but I can't leave. Dutch, Hosea, John," that last name came out a little more pleading than he would've liked. "They're like my family. I can't just go. Maybe we could go a bit more legitimate so we can move out of all of the other stuff..."

Mary wasn't hearing it. "I can't stay here. I can't be a part of this. If you're not coming with me then I guess this is goodbye."

With that, she rode away on her horse while Arthur wandered back to his tent with the weight of the world in his head and heart. He didn't speak for days, his thoughts acting like a gag; he did miss her, but he felt even more guilty for not leaving with her because he knew he'd always resent her for breaking them apart. He couldn't love her like she wanted because without fail, John would be in the back of his mind like a fever he couldn't sweat out.

He spent god knows how long in sheer misery, pushing away anyone who came in to check on him. It was a few weeks before Dutch came in and tried to set him straight.

"Come on, son. I know you're upset but it's time to move on now. We've got work to do and we can't do it without you."

All the while, John kept trying to coax him out of his tent, not even knowing just how much it hurt to see him, just how much he wished he could throw everything to the wind and hold him close. It was cruel just how much he wanted him, knowing that if he acted upon it it could see them both swing if they were ever caught- even if they weren't caught by the law, it wasn't something that was acceptable amongst normal people. Dutch, Hosea...he wasn't sure they'd accept them if they knew.

He couldn't do that to him.

So he just continued to keep him at arm's length, hoping that one day his feelings would wither like unpicked fruit on the vine. He'd seen John shuffle off to his tent with young Abigail one night, only to find that those feelings had buried their roots in the deepest recesses of his heart that no one ever saw. Hearing John's pleas last night did nothing to stop that.

He tried not to make a sound as tears rolled down his cheeks. He held his torso in the cot, partly hoping that it would stop him from breaking apart completely, mostly hoping that the feeling of being held could maybe feel like it was John's arms around him instead of his own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn't sleep that night. Far from it, he had become manic.

As the early morning light arose over the hills, Arthur had already packed his roll and saddlebags with everything he needed to get away from camp for a little while. All he needed was to get John out of his system for long enough for the boy to hopefully stay away and realise that their feelings were going nowhere. Well, he had a nice little cut from the Blackwater job and had heard that Valentine had some of the most gorgeous working girls this side of the Mississippi.

No one was awake yet, which was good. He could slip out before anyone would notice he was gone. If he caught whoever was on watch then that's fine, he could be honest. Well, honest to a point.

He saddled up and began to ride out of camp, only to hear Bill's gruff bark of a voice shout at him.

"Where're you goin', Morgan?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Valentine. Going to treat myself to some drink and maybe a companion, wanna come watch? You might learn a thing or two."

Bill growled, waving him away while Morgan began to pick up speed.

This is what was best for them. To fuck out his angst so he could come back and not act on his feelings for John. He couldn't do that to him; it was inappropriate as they'd grown up like brothers, but he couldn't put him in danger for the sake of his own selfish desires. No, better off to ride on towards Valentine, leaving all of it behind for a little while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9pm at the Keane's Saloon, Valentine was about the time where Daisy Belle would begin her shift as a working girl, wandering the bar, laughing at the patrons jokes and singing along to whatever was being belted out on the piano. With her raven-coloured hair and tanned Roma skin, she was always a hit with the patrons for her mysterious looks and talent for massaging egos, always being able to find at least one good quality in everyone; a little more if they paid for more time. She never struggled to walk a few men up the stairs and into one of the Keane's many rooms, making them all just that little bit lighter in the wallet and the balls.

It wasn't a bad line of work for a woman like her, always approaching her clientele like an anthropologist studying undiscovered people; the only difference was she studied undiscovered cocks and it allowed her to carve her own path in life. As society viewed her as the town bicycle, the men at the bank had no problem taking her money for a plot of land of her own- something she knew the 'nice girls' couldn't do unless they wanted to get some funny looks in return.

"Daisy, we've got a live one." her madam, Miss Millie, proclaimed. "Daisy, this is Mr...Sorry, I didn't catch your name, darlin'."

Arthur stood with his hands in his pockets. "Callahan. Arthur."

Daisy giggled. "Well, nice to meet you Callahan Arthur," she knew he'd respond well to her charm, being all shy like he was. "What can I interest you this evenin'?"

He seemed to gnaw at his words a little before they came out- this man was adorable! "Um, you if you don't mind."

She smiled. "Not at all, except it's probably a good idea if we take care of a little business first. It's $10 an hour, $70 for the whole night."

_'Almost as much as a new gun.'_ Arthur thought as he handed $70 over to Miss Millie.

Daisy grabbed his hand, leading him up the stairs while Keane's was in full swing; it was amazing either of them were able to hear eachother over all of the noise. That was ok though- meant that they'd have a little more privacy upstairs if no one could hear them.

She led him to a room where she pulled out a key, unlocking the door. He followed her in obediently, sitting on the bed. When she had closed the door behind her, she looked him up and down- he seemed withdrawn, somehow.

"So, what can I do for you, sugar? We got all night. How can I make it good for you?"

He took a little while to respond. "Come over here."

She smiled deviously, walking over and planting each of her knees down Arthur's sides, straddling him. He had his hands on her hips as she leaned down to kiss him, sweet and tender at first but with all the intention of getting hungrier, going deeper. She was going to have to work his dials a little more than usual but she was happy to do that; he seemed nice enough.

He tried to get out of his head and just lose himself in a beautiful woman kissing him, but this felt wrong somehow. She was by far the most good looking woman in the joint, but he couldn't shake the feeling of John being in the same position the night before. Jesus, she didn't look all that much older than him either. The only difference was he could feel just how much John wanted him in each swipe of his lips whereas this woman...she was doing her job, that's it.

"What's wrong? Want something a little more? I could move down a little?" She asked, planting small kisses down his neckline.

"N-no, it's fine...keep going." Arthur replied, feeling hot under the collar for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Her touch while pleasant wasn't working the way he'd hoped; the ache in his heart showed no signs of dissipating and what was worse, he felt like he was...betraying John somehow. It was a feeling he knew well but had not welcomed its return.

It was when Daisy started fumbling with his belt buckle that he stopped her.

"Sorry...could we just take a minute?" he placed his hands over hers, trying to get them to stay still.

"Sure." She stopped, opting to sit next to him. "You seem like you're miles away anyway."

"Yeah...I'm sorry." He said, wiping his forehead into his hands, refusing to look at her.

She tilted her head. "It's fine by me, this is your time. I'm happy to talk if that's what you want to do for a while. We can go as fast or slow as you like."

She had no idea what her words meant to him in that moment. "Thank you. Sorry, I'm not normally like this...I'm usually a bit better."

She shook her head. "You're alright, sugar. Although it's my experience that guys like you usually can't...stand at attention because they're missing someone. What's her name?"

His eyes connected with hers, almost burning into her while he sat in silence. She was getting dangerously close to something that he wanted to stay buried. However, what he didn't know is that she'd been around the block enough times to know what men had to hide.

"It ain't a _'her'_ , is it?"

Arthur breathed deeply, clenching his eyes shut. He'd never felt so ashamed of himself. She was probably going to run out to her madam, telling her that he was a pervert that needed to be locked up. Men didn't do that. Men weren't supposed to do that. It was wrong for men to feel that way towards other men. He wanted to scream and cry in frustration for being saddled with these feelings that chose him.

She could see the sadness threatening to spill out; he'd been sitting on this for a while.

"Hey...." she came in, her voice all kind and gentle, reaching out to rub his shoulder.

Arthur jerked. "No, don't....Just, no...." his voice was barely a whisper as he tried to keep holding everything he felt back.

She took him into her arms, holding him close as he felt his body hitch and her exposed shoulder become wet with tears. "It's ok, I won't say nothin'."

She held him through the worst of it for a few hours, just letting him feel what he needed to feel. It wasn't the first time she'd had a man like him come to her to try to punch those feelings down to wherever the hell they came from; at least with him, he was confronting them now. And hey, he'd already paid for his time so she was just delivering another service she was incredibly talented at performing; listening.

"I know it's wrong, I know it...." He finally managed when he could speak.

"Who said?" She replied, looking at him. He seemed so cut up about this for no good reason at all.

" _People_. Even if I was able to...do that...we'd swing. Even if the law didn't find us, people would find that disgusting and I don't want him to get hurt because of me. I care about him too much for him to get attacked like that."

He started from the beginning, telling him all about 'Jim', who he'd basically grown up and acted like an older brother towards, until he began to notice just how well he'd grown into a young man. Arthur told her that he liked women plenty, which is why he came to see her and why he'd almost taken a wife not long ago, but he couldn't get rid of what he felt no matter how hard he tried. He told her of how much he'd hurt him by pushing him away like he did, but it was all for his own good because he couldn't risk him getting hurt. He told her how much he wished he could allow himself to love Jim, even when he was begging him to do so on the waterfront.

"It sounds like he really does love you." She said, after getting the full story. 

"Yeah, but...Men aren't supposed to feel that way towards eachother. People get killed for doing that." Arthur pleaded.

"They do, yes but," Daisy began, thinking back to all of the men that had been in Arthur's shoes before him. "It doesn't stop men from feeling that way. Neither does trying to ignore their feelings. What it does do is make you feel miserable, which I can see has been happening. Can you honestly say you're that much better off without him than with?"

She had a point. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes still found John at camp, on jobs, making sure that he was ok or just trying to take in a rare glimpse to shut away into his memories so he could enjoy it later. He had a few pictures of John in his journal that he'd drawn over the years that he treasured more than any score.

"Not to mention men kill other men. Men rape people. Men steal, lie, cheat- I've seen it all here. In the scheme of things, is it really that bad if you both really love eachother? You may not be born with the parts that other people see as being 'the right ones' but it doesn't mean you're the ones in the wrong and being honest with yourself _ain't wrong_."

He sat, nodding. He felt strangely at ease with what she had said; yes, he had killed. He had stolen. He had cheated and lied. He had done far worse than love John Marston like he did and he did, so much that it hurt.

"What if I've messed it all up though? He probably hates me now for what I did." He sounded more like a child afraid of getting a beating than the big, bad outlaw he was.

She made a firm but kind, open eye contact with him, like she was free of all judgement. "If he loves you like you said, he'll come back. I can't say that he won't be upset or that you won't need to work through some stuff, but you'll work it out."

He pulled her in for a hug, trying to convey just how much her words had meant to him in those moments. What he was going to do was set back for the camp in the morning and tell John everything; how he felt, how long he felt it for, why he kept pushing him away, why he hadn't ever stopped loving him. He was prepared for whatever response he could get, but he just needed to be honest with himself and just trust John that he was no longer a kid anymore- he was now a young man, able to make his own decisions and he'd chosen Arthur. No one had ever chosen him....but he did.

"Thank you." he whispered earnestly to the young working girl.


	3. Tangled, Stolen, Living Where Things Are Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John awakes from the night before to news that Arthur has disappeared to Valentine in pursuit of a lady of the night. In retaliation, he decides to head to The Stag in Saint Denis, only to find that the people there are not what they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies folks; it's going to get a little worse before it gets better for our guys so I've tried to tag accordingly. As there are non-con elements, if you have an issue with that then please leave this chapter alone. Alternatively, let me know if I've missed anything I should have tagged. Otherwise, keep your comments rolling in if you are enjoying my story as I enjoy reading them!
> 
> As for everyone who's sticking with this story, thank you- you are the ones keeping it going.

_We are tangled_

_We are stolen_

_We are living where things are hidden_

John awoke with the filthiest headache he'd had in a long time and a head full of turbulence from the night before. Oh god...he'd let his feelings get the better of him. He told Arthur exactly how he felt. He even kissed Arthur.

And Arthur actually stayed with him for a second there.

_'You can do a lot better than me.'_ Arthur's words echoed off the sorest parts of his mind. What did he mean he could do better? Did he mean that he didn't think he _deserved_ John?

He hissed in pain, shutting his eyes and grabbed the side of his head before he could dig into that memory deeper.

Abigail had heard him wake up and opted to open the flap of his tent.

"Mornin' John. How you feelin'?" She asked.

He cracked open one set of his eyelids, prompted to shut them again when the sun's rays shone to the back of his head, cutting like a knife. He let out a small groan in pain. Just how much did he have to drink last night?

"Figured as much. Got some coffee and a health tonic from Pearson if you need." She placed the mug and the bottle next to his cot and sat at the edge of it. 

She'd pieced two and two together last night when she snapped out of her thoughts and saw that Arthur had disappeared into the trees behind John. She hoped that no one else had noticed, but by the look of the amount of ruckus going on around the camp, her worried in that regard were quelled. However, a bunch of new ones had opened- what had they been talking about exactly?

She sat by the fire until everyone began to peel away to their tents- Bill and Javier were propping up the good Reverend Swanson, Trelawney and Hosea were regaling one another with confidence tricks they'd picked up over the years, Dutch and Molly had long since retired to Dutch's tent and Grimshaw and Pearson were sharing a few glasses of the bourbon he'd pilfered from his time in the Navy over by his cart. She could hear the crackle of the flames dying as she waited for the men to come out, hoping she could at least talk to one of them.

Arthur stormed into his tent without so much as looking at her, let alone a word. John wandered out of the thicket, not faring much better. He had an expression on his face that was like he had been run over by a carriage towed by 10 horses; just beaten, broken, defeated.

"John, what happened?"

He raised his hands, trying to create a barrier of personal space between himself and Abigail. He knew she meant well but all he was interested in was feeling miserable in peace.

"No. Not now, Abby. Not right now."

Abigail noticed the lump in his throat, making his words come out in more of a squeak than in his normal dusky timbre. Now it seemed like this memories were clouded by a migraine.

He downed the health tonic in a single hit; Hosea must've made it because it didn't have the rough aftertaste like the store-bought ones did and his migraine was gone in mere seconds. He washed it down with a sip of coffee.

"Where's Arthur?" He finally asked.

"I dunno, I haven't seen him this morning."

She was unsure if it was the coffee or what, but something sent a jolt of energy through him, making him get up and out of bed, walking out to the camp. Just what had gone on between those two?

Sure enough, Dutch was asking the same question.

"Just where the hell is Arthur?" he boomed to anyone who would listen. "Has anyone seen Arthur?"

Bill Williamson came walking down towards their leader with that same little stompy walk he always had. "Sir, I saw him! He left for Valentine just this mornin'!"

Dutch put his hands on his hips, stunned by Arthur just leaving like that. "Now why the hell would he be going to Valentine?"

John could've asked the same question, if he didn't already have a few answers lined up as to why. He'd run away. Or John had driven away. Either way, it was clear that he'd been scared off by John's behaviour the night before and it made his heart sink like a stone.

"Said he wanted to spend some of his cut there- wanted to buy some drink and a whore." Bill barked as per the course for him.

John's whole world fell silent. Arthur had gone to fuck some whore in some dingy saloon in fucking Valentine rather than look him in the eye in the morning. The hurt he felt was spreading over him like a rash. He ran over to some bushes, emptying the contents of his stomach into them. He didn't care if it was from the drink, his feelings of complete abandonment or a mix of the two; he felt completely and utterly rejected.

Bill chuckled. "Too much Kentucky bourbon there Johnny boy? Heh heh!"

Abigail walked over, patting him on the back until he stopped. Bill was barely a welcome presence at the best of times, but he was even more infuriating when he didn't even realise the gravity his dumb words held.

When the other gang members split off, all that John could muster was a small 'thank you' to Abigail. First Arthur pushes him the hell away and now he just runs off without so much as an explanation? He felt like trashing or shooting something, just to exorcise some of the anger and hurt he was feeling so he wouldn't cry and give himself away.

That was, until he remembered the Stag in Saint Denis. If Arthur was going to push him away, then he could find the company of someone who'd hold him close.

He didn't say a word as he prepared Old Boy's saddle, getting ready for a trip to the big city. He was barely noticed by anyone except Abby.

"Where're you going?" She asked with the knowledge of the situation not being right. 

"Out." John deadpanned.

"Where're you going?"

"Saint Denis."

"Why?"

John stopped, sighing in frustration before looking at her. She was worried, of course she was, but the one person he wanted to worry wasn't there and all he wanted was to take it out on somebody who couldn't rat him out to the camp. "Because I feel shitty, ok Abby? I talked to him and it went awful; he's in Valentine cuz' of me so it's clear that he's not interested and never will be."

She hated hearing him so defeated. "So why are you leaving?"

He continued to tack up Old Boy. "Gonna find someone who is, at that Stag place."

It was like alarm bells were going off in her head. "John, no! No, you don't want to go to a place like that. The men there...they're not nice, John."

Back in her days as a young working girl on the streets, The Stag was _the_ place to avoid. While she herself was in no danger as it mostly catered to men who preferred the company of other men, some of the boys she'd work with would come back, oftentimes bruised and shaken from the men who'd bought their time. It was reported to have cleaned up a little bit under new ownership but still, she didn't feel right about letting him go there to lick his wounds. 

She tried to hold his shoulders, only to see him flinch. When he took a moment to breathe, his voice was a ghost of what it once was. "I just....I need to feel something right now, Abigail. Please, just let me go."

"I don't want you do get hurt, John!" Abigail tried to stop herself from shouting as he mounted his horse. Her heart sunk as he rode out of the camp without so much as a word.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Stag in Saint Denis was a lively place at the best of times, offering drink, music and an environment that didn't judge but rather catered to the clientele that sought the company of other men. It existed within a moral and legal loophole within Saint Denis as its new owner, a foreigner by the name of Angelo Bronte, had greased enough palms of city officials to ensure that their patrons would not be harassed. While it didn't stop the odd fistfight initiated by the odd passer-by who didn't agree with the actions of its patrons, most knew by now that the safest place to explore their desires was within its four walls.

It had just begun to get dark when John hitched Old Boy up outside.

He was a little unsteady on his feet, having spent most of the ride over with his lips around a bottle of Guarma rum in the hope that it would help silence the thoughts in his head, at least for a little while. All he wanted was to be numb to it all, to no longer feel anything towards Arthur. Tried as he might, the man was still in the back of his mind as he stumbled into the doors of the Stag.

Even at dusk, the place was in full swing; the band was playing, there were a few games of poker going on, the barman was run off his feet pouring drinks and there was an unmistakable hum of activity throughout. If it weren't for the odd sight of men canoodling with other men in the back, it really just looked like any other saloon you'd find. 

He walked over to the bar, pulling up a stool. 

"Well hello there, don't think I've seen you 'round before, stranger," the barman quipped as he cleaned out a glass. "What can I get you?"

John didn't bother looking up from the varnished surface of the bar. "Whatever's good here. Big glass o' that."

The barman poured him a glass of Kentucky Bourbon, sliding it towards him. "That'll be $1.25, sir."

John handed over the money without a word, gulping down his drink. He wished he was specific rather than just asking for 'whatever's good'; all his memories of the night before came flooding back as if they were woven into his sense of taste. He just couldn't put his finger on it; for a minute there, Arthur actually leaned into his touch- surely if he was disgusted by the prospect of being with him, he would've pulled away when John kissed him? But then why did he run off to Valentine? Why'd he want to fight him so much?

God, that kiss...What he wouldn't give to have that moment back.

"Hey there." He heard a voice puncture his thoughts.

John turned to see a man who wouldn't look out of place within the gang, only he looked at him with the same predatory stare that he'd seen whenever Bill or Javier were in the saloon around some ladies of the night. He was tall with some scruff on his chin, hiding an angular jaw. Looking down, he was actually quite muscular; had to be a rancher, rather than the toffee-nosed snobs that inhabited this city. He had similar eyes to Arthur and after the amount he'd been drinking that day, he might just be enough to help work the original out of his system. 

"Hey there." He replied, taking a sip of his drink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John's back was slammed against the outside wall of the Stag with the stranger's mouth closing over his. 

It'd been a few hours since they'd first met and many, many drinks had gone down between now and then. He didn't know his name, he didn't know where he came from, he didn't frankly care at this point; he just needed to feel close to someone so he didn't drown in his loneliness.

"You're so goddamn pretty, you know that?" The Stranger breathed between kisses. John could almost taste the bourbon on his breath.

John didn't respond, just opting to kiss him a little deeper, pulling him in by the shirt. He just clawed at him, trying to replicate the same feeling he had the night prior but couldn't shake the knowledge that this man wasn't Arthur and never would be. Hopefully his last drink would kick in soon and he could forget why he was there to begin with.

The Stranger moved down to his neck, almost nipping at it as he tried to slip his hand into John's belt. His knee had risen, attempting to fondle the underside of his balls through two layers of pants. He wasn't sure if it was the drink or not, but he couldn't feel himself getting hard under his touch. 

"You can't be more than what, 18, 19? Bet you've never been with a man before, ain't that right?" he breathed in his ear.

"Nope, never." John responded. He felt disappointment in this; he wanted Arthur to be his first. He only wanted to be with Arthur. While he had tried to do the same with Abigail (after all, he did like women), he loved Arthur and wanted him more than anything. Not this guy.

The Stranger chuckled ominously. "Well...plenty of time to break you in, sweetheart."

John's threshold for pain was pretty high, having endured everything from fistfights to knife attacks to bullet grazes to a wolf awarding him some mighty big scars along his cheek. However, when he could feel The Stranger's teeth biting into his neck, he yelped at the pain.

"No...stop it." John managed before the Stranger grabbed him by the jaw, forcing eye contact between them. His stare was still predatory, but predatory in a way where John could see that he was capable of hurting him.

"I control this, sweetheart- not you. You scream and everyone will know what a little queer y'are." he hissed, still reeking of alcohol.

Normally when backed into a corner, John was quick to draw his pistol and end whoever was threatening him. This time around, he just froze up against the wall while this man undid the buttons on his shirt, his tongue following in a sloppy trail as each became free. He wanted to push the man onto the ground, punch him into unconsciousness and run, but what would happen? Would the law come after him? What if he was caught? As Arthur had said, men swung for doing this sort of thing, so he tried his hardest to retreat into his mind; an alternate universe where it was Arthur that was kissing him against the wall.

He tried to picture how he'd be, out in the dark like this- in contrast to his brooding personality, Arthur could be quite gregarious when he'd had a few drinks in him. Mischievous even. He'd probably be giggling his head off and it'd be up to John to shut him up, preferably with a kiss that he'd just fall into. He'd run one hand up John's cheek and have the other sitting on his waist, just enjoying the heat radiating between the two of them. 

He'd buy a room at the saloon, making out like he was the more sober of the pair and needed to take care of his friend because it was irresponsible for them to drink and ride horses at that hour. They'd go up as drinking buddies who'd clearly had a little too much, but once they were behind that door, Arthur would scoop his chin up in his hands, pulling him in for another kiss. Whether he'd be gentle or hard and needy would remain to be seen; John's fantasies over the years had alternated between sweet, gentle lovemaking where he would be teased and patiently unreeled and hard, raw fucking- flipped into his knees and fucked into the mattress so each muscle in his body carried a memory of when Arthur was there.

The feeling of the Stranger's teeth again, this time near his pecs, quickly dragged him out of that fantasy.

"Quit your fucking crying or I'll be giving you something to cry about." The Stranger hissed.

There was an unmistakable roll of a revolver barrel, before he heard a foreboding 'click', indicating that the Stranger had a gun aimed at his head. He could almost feel the man's skin turn to goosebumps.

"Get your fuckin' hands off him, right now."


	4. Something in My Eye, Shiver Down Your Spine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur rides on back to camp, clear-headed and with every intention of coming clean about his feelings. Once he arrives however, he finds that John has gone to the one place that repulsed him in all of Lemoyne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Gotta say, I am having an absolute ball writing this story for you all; please, keep those comments coming in as they absolutely make my day!

_You are something in my eye_

_And I am_  

_The shiver down your spine_

When the morning light finally came, Daisy had finally given Arthur his next move- he was going to find John and come clean about his own feelings, all of them. That he loved him but was also terrified of him getting hurt because of it; if he still wanted to go ahead and see what turn their relationship would take, he would. If he wouldn't, then he'd at least work at getting back the closeness they once had. Either way, he was going to make it right; it was going to take some time, but John was worth all the time in the world.

Arthur handed over a tip of $20 to Daisy when he was ready to ride out, finishing their exchange with a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you. You have no idea." He said, as sincere as he'd ever be.

"Don't sweat it, Arthur Callahan. I'd ask you to not be a stranger but by the sounds of things, you won't have use for my services anymore."

Arthur chuckled. "Hopefully not. Next time I'm in Valentine though, I'm buying you a drink."

She smiled. "It's a deal!"

He rode off into the rising sun in the east, vowing to make it right between him and John, no matter how long it took. She watched him disappear behind the Saints Hotel, hoping that the world would be kind to him and Jim.

She began to count the tip he'd left her, smiling as each bill passed through her fingers. She could buy a whole new outfit and a fancy dinner with this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the ride over, he came up with some kind of plan as to how to approach the situation between him and John. He'd drunk a lot that night before, so if he seemed to have no recollection of his behaviour or what he'd said, then Arthur wouldn't push his luck for now. However, Arthur could at least do the decent thing and invite him out to go fishing, hunting, whatever to help them remember what it was to spend quality time together again.

If it turned out that John's memories were stronger than the inevitable migraine he had, then he would explain himself and give John a choice- either give this a shot and deal with whatever consequences came their way or not and just leave it at that. While he hoped badly that it wouldn't be the latter, he also tried to mentally adjust for whatever answer he received.

A pang of nervousness hit him as he began to approach the camp- it was one thing to come up with a flawless plan when you're hours away, it's another to have its execution only minutes away.

"Who goes there?" Charles was on watch it seemed.

"It's me!" Arthur shouted back.

Charles waved him into the camp while Arthur took a deep breath, trying to remember to stick to the plan.

He'd barely hitched up his horse when he saw Abigail striding up to him like a woman on a mission.

"Arthur! Where the hell have you been?" Her voice was like a furious whisper; quiet enough so her anger wasn't broadcast throughout the camp, but still containing all of the same ferocity of a parent admonishing a child. It was jarring for him.

"I went up to Valentine. Why, what's goin' on?"

This did nothing to quell her fury. "Heard you'd gone up there to buy yourself a whore, am I hearin' that right?"

Arthur shut his eyes and sighed in annoyance. Fucking Bill- for a proud ex-soldier, he was the biggest gossip-monger in the camp.

"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone but I don't see what business that is of yours." He was unsure of why she would be so angry at him specifically about that; riding out of town to buy a woman for the night was par for the course for many men in the gang when the score was this good.

"It became my business when John rode off to Saint Denis over it. Didn't say a damn thing, just up and gone."

Arthur put his hand over his mouth, breathing in. He must've heard Bill carping on about Arthur's business and like a child, this was his way of throwing a tantrum- 'If you're going to do it then I will too', that sort of thing. Arthur would just have to wait until he came back to tell him that he couldn't follow through with the woman he'd bought for the night.

"John's a big boy, if he wants to go to Saint Denis in his own time, he should-he ain't hurting nobody." That tasted like a lie as it came out of his mouth. 

"You don't get it, do you? He went to the _Stag_ , Arthur." She stared at the colour begin to drain from his face, lowering her voice for discretion. "Now I know you know what kind of men go to that place. If he's alone, who knows what could happen to him so you need to fix this!"

He could feel his guts coming up into his throat as he leaned against Boadicea for some kind of footing. John had run away because of him. John had gone to a saloon known for being frequented by men who attacked other men because they knew they could get away with it. Abigail knew what he was. All of these things just made him want to be sick.

He could feel Abigail's hand on his back, making him flinch.

"Nope..no... don't touch me." he managed, refusing to look at her. He still wasn't used to the idea of people knowing something he'd hidden away for so long, especially when those people belonged to the gang.

"Arthur, you're still my friend. John is still my friend. I know how you two feel and I just want you both to be happy. More than that though, I want you both safe, but the only way that's going to happen is if you go and get him. Bring him home, work your shit out, get him away from that place, please?"

Arthur nodded, taking down Boudicea's hitch and hopping back on. He made a beeline for the trees leading out of camp and could barely hear Dutch yelling as he ran up to the hitching posts.

"ARTHURRRR!" He ran until his feet gave up, seeing his horse gallop out of sight. "God, what is it with everyone disappearing today?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It would've been about 11 when Arthur first saw the streetlamps illuminating the dark streets of Saint Denis.

All the while he had spent the ride over worrying about John; the last time Arthur had gone to the Stag, his night had ended when some young punk thought it'd be a great idea to steal from his satchel. While it wasn't the first, nor the last time anyone had attempted to rob him, it did lead to him discovering a boy not much older than 15 being preyed upon by a much older man. He broke a whiskey bottle over the man's head and escaped with the boy, leaving him out the front of The Sisters of the Holy Sacrament Church on the outskirts of the city. That experience of seeing grown men doing that cut Arthur to the core in more ways then he'd ever want to admit to and ensured that he'd never return if he could help it.

Now here he was, trying to see if the man he loved was ok, or at the very least unharmed.

God...It was odd to admit that to himself; he wasn't used to thinking in that term, but it was that term that fitted the best. He loved him. He'd loved him for a long time and while they had met when he was a boy, he'd turned into a fine young man who had chosen him when no one else did. Even if he was upset or angry about the night before, he needed to know that he was safe.

As he rode through the streets of Saint Denis, he remembered the city- there were a few more buildings now, but it had a buzz to it that was almost like the city was a living being rather than just a home to many. There were a few people out on the streets, the odd lawman but most of the action was indoors; inside of the saloons, the parlours, anywhere that was offering good drink or companionship for the evening.

If he remembered correctly, the Stag was near the docks. An apt location for a saloon that catered to men with desires best hidden away from polite society.

He turned a corner to see the lights shining out onto the street with a lamp illuminating the gaudy 'Stag' sign out the front. Looked like it'd been repainted within the last few years.

He pulled on Boudicea's reins, slowing her down to a quieter trot, being careful of alerting any passers to his presence.

"No...stop it." He heard a familiar voice say. In a city as loud as this one, he knew that dusky tone anywhere.

He looked out for wherever John could be until he stopped; he was pressed against a wall with some hulk of a man pawing all over him. By the sounds of things, John wanted to stop and this man wasn't respecting his wishes. It was enough to make his blood boil into pure outrage.

He had to think quick- drawing his pistol now could mean that he could hit John, should he decide to take the shot. Instead, he hopped off his horse, pulling out a few guns in case it got messy.

God, why was John here of all places? If he knew of it then he must've heard the stories that come out of it. While it was a small respite for men who preferred men, it also attracted men who had no qualms about hurting other men either. Part of him just wanted to see John safe. Another wanted to scold him for being so damn stupid. Mostly, he wanted the man with his hands all over John hung from the highest tree.

He snuck up behind him with his revolver out; both men were so drunk that they didn't even hear him coming until he cocked his gun.

"Get your fuckin' hands off him, right now." he growled.

Surely enough, the Stranger's demeanour had completely changed from predator to prey- he let John go without question, already scrambling for some excuse as to why he'd decided to take things too far.

"Whoa feller, it ain't what it looks like..." He dissembled.

Arthur pulled the hammer back on his revolver, beckoning the Stranger to move away from John. "Looks like you don't know when to back off, feller," he looked over at John; it looked like he'd downed an entire barrel of whiskey. "You alright?"

The younger man held onto his neck. "Yeah, 'm fine."

The Stranger's attitude began to shift to something a little more incredulous. "Oh I see...there's some lovers' quarrel or something here. Jesus, that's just rich."

"You aren't in any goddamn position to be sassing me right now, mister. Not when I've got the gun and you don't." Arthur tried his hardest not to shout. He didn't need any more attention than he already had. 

"You hurt me, I'll go to the law, rat you out as not only violent criminals, but queers as well. You'll swing." The man's hands had actually begun to drop, he was feeling so confident that he had a trump card up his sleeve.

Arthur wasn't having any of it. He lunged forward, taking the man to the ground, punching him a couple of times before sticking the barrel of the gun into his mouth.

"From where I am, dead men can't say shit to no one."

John just felt defeated in all of this; at any other time, he should've felt happy that Arthur had come along and gotten his arsehole off him just before he began to do something really heinous. However, he couldn't rid himself of what he knew- Arthur didn't love him and was only here because Dutch or Abigail had started panicking because he was gone. If he hadn't met this stranger, he would've been drinking his sorrows into oblivion in some alleyway, throwing bottles at the wall and trying to just stop his heart from hurting so damn much.

"Arthur, just stop. Just let him go. He ain't gonna do nothin'." John said, defeated.

Sure enough, Arthur relented. He pulled the gun barrel out of the man's mouth. As he climbed off the man, he couldn't ignore the smell of a relieved bladder beneath him.

He turned around to John, saying nothing. Instead he opted to grab his arm with the full intention of dragging him away from the place and asking him what the hell we was thinking. Even in the dark of night, Arthur could still see the sadness behind John's deep brown eyes. Man....he had to make this right.

The Stranger on the other had, took his reprieve as an opportunity to get mouthy.

"Fuckin' queers. Mustn't do a good job of pleasing him if he came runnin' here. Could've shown him what a real man feels like!" The Stranger all but shouted.

Arthur had had enough. He'd turned around and fired a shot at the man's groin; considerably appropriate for all of his vulgarity. He screamed in pain; John and Arthur had seen enough gunfire to not even flinch at this point.

"FUUU-" The man was cut off by Arthur firing one last shot into his head, free of any regret that he'd spent his last moments in agonising pain.


	5. Lick of My Lips, Tip of Your Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After ending the life of a scumbag in Saint Denis, Arthur and John hole up for the night in a hotel that turns a blind eye to men like themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so late with this; had to return to my day job, which put a bit of a dampener on my writing. Anyway, here's the next chapter- I feel like I've used their names way too much, haha. Again, if you like what you're reading then please leave me a comment as I absolutely adore reading them! Enjoy!

_You are on the lick of my lips_  

_And I am on the tip of your tongue_

Arthur and John were already a few streets away, on their horses and out of sight by the time the patrons of the Stag had noticed the gunshots.

They had to be calm; while their attire showed the rest of the city that they weren't from around there, no one had identified them by that stage so they just had to let the lawmen blow off their steam in searching for this mystery killer on the loose, which meant trotting along at a nice leisurely pace along the cobblestone. Neither man said anything during their ride around, both deep in thought over the night that had unfolded for them in this city.

Arthur didn't regret a damn thing- not shooting that monster of a man, not coming after John, not leaving camp. He was however, infuriated that John would put himself in danger like that, and for what? Retaliation? While this wasn't their first nor their last scrape with the law, Arthur just wanted to shake some sense into John, tell him that pulling stunts like that is what got men violated and killed and the entire reason why Arthur tried to back off and push away his desires was that John wouldn't be in danger; not from the law, not from nosy people, no one. When they got back to camp, he was going to string Bill up by the britches for his part in all of this.

John on the other hand looked every bit the sullen teenager and was acting like it too, refusing to even make eye contact with Arthur. He could still feel the waves of alcohol pulsating throughout his system, swirling into a terrible combination of hurt and frustration. Arthur should have just left it alone; he would've gotten out of it eventually and found himself in the arms of someone else. That was the problem with Arthur Morgan; John didn't feel like he wanted to keep him particularly close, but as soon as someone else was in the picture, he was like a cougar guarding its kill.

"In 'ere." Arthur said as he approached a small laneway. 

Arthur rode in front in this narrow laneway that barely fit the width of their horses- John could feel his boots scraping against the walls every so often. 

In spite of his feelings, there was a spark of need in John's gut that just wanted Arthur to say something, anything, about what had happened. Something that would indicate if he had any damn feelings at all towards the situation, or even just an explanation as to why he was there. He'd made his feelings pretty clear a few nights back, only to pull his own little disappearing act the morning after. He couldn't even think of the words to fully articulate how much it had hurt to find that he'd not only just abandoned him within the confines of the camp but had run away after he'd confessed something he'd held dear for so long. It'd made him feel even cheaper than running off to Saint Denis to do the same thing.

Arthur knew they were close to their destination. Nonetheless, he was stuck between being unable to look at John for scaring him like he did and never wanting to take his eyes off him again, lest he do something stupid. 

He could feel his heart beating a little harder, a little faster with his blood rushing to all points of his body wit a feeling somewhere between anger and love. He wanted to slap the young man for being so damn careless, for pulling this 'tit-for-tat' bullshit, almost getting himself hurt in the process. He also wanted to hold him close so he wouldn't run away on him again.

Arthur could finally see it- The Bayview Guesthouse. Salvation.

The Bayview was another less-than-reputable establishment located near the water that surrounded Saint Denis, but the difference was instead of drink and morally questionable company, the Bayview had long since acknowledged that money doesn't change colour depending on the hands holding it and they could make a killing offering no-questions-asked discretion for anyone who needed it. So of course, it had long become a favourite of those with a taste for other men.

"We're here." Arthur mumbled, hopping off Boudicea and hitching her at the post. 

John remained stoic, even though this legs nearly gave way beneath him when he got down off of Old Boy.

 _'Jesus Christ,'_ Arthur thought. _'Can barely fuckin' stand up.'_

The older man grabbed the younger by the shoulder, forcing him up the stairs to the front entry. Even in the front lobby, there were faint sounds of people in various states of pleasure coming from upstairs.

They walked up to the front counter; behind it was an older woman nursing a cigarette and a magazine that for a moment, looked like she and Grimshaw could've been sisters in another life. She said nothing as she saw the two men walk up.

"Evenin'. We need a room." Arthur told the woman.

She took the cigarette out of her mouth, nursing it between her fingers as she turned around to a board adorned with keys, taking one off. "You gonna be staying a few hours or the whole night?"

Arthur could tell she had already made her assumptions about what they were going to get up to. He couldn't find it in him to care. "Whole night."

"You want a bath at some point?"

Arthur looked over at John, then down at himself. They'd both seen better days in terms of their hygiene. Hell, even just to wash off the scurf and any memories of the past few hours would've been enough. "Yeah."

She held onto the key for a moment. "Five dollars, please."

Arthur pulled a five dollar bill out of his back pocket, handing it to her and taking the key in return. 

"Have fun, boys. Don't make a mess and we're good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two men said nothing as they made it up the stairs, the air around them thick with tension. The sound of Arthur unlocking the door to their room was grating enough to make the two men flinch. Both just really wanted the other to start swinging to they would have an opportunity to yell and scream and get everything that they'd been hauling around for the past few days just out on the table, no holds barred.

The room itself was pretty plain; a bed, a small lounge, a table, couple of chairs and a tub. The decor itself was the least of their concerns as John stumbled over to the bed, dropping down upon it like he were made of brick. He hunched over, holding his head in his hands as he tried to get his bearings, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Arthur. Arthur on the other hand, closed the door behind him, feeling that each second that passed was making it more difficult for him to hide his anger.

"Just fucking say it already." John spat.

Arthur turned around slowly with a scowl plastered over his face. "And what would that be? The hell do you want me to say?"

"That I'm a fuckin' idiot who deserved all of that." John finally looked up at him, a ferocity behind is eyes glazed with tears.

"You are a fuckin' idiot if you think _anyone_ deserves that." Arthur hissed back, trying to will away his memories of his last time at The Stag. He sighed in frustration. "Why did you go there in the first place?"

John didn't miss a beat. "Why'd _you_ go to Valentine to pick up a whore?"

The older man ran his fingers over his eyes, finishing with a pinch to the bridge to his nose. "That's what this is all about? You're upset because I went to Valentine?"

"Of course I fuckin' am!" John shouted, his words coming out more desperate than intimidating. "I tell you how I damn well feel and you just left, just left without a damn word so you could fuck someone else. D'you even know how much that hurts? Do you even care?"

"I do!" Arthur shouted back. "Goddammit, why do think I'm even here?"

He took a deep breath as if it were to stop himself from bursting into furious tears. There was no telling what that man had planned for John. He could've attacked him. He could've hurt him. He could've killed him. Arthur could've been cutting him down from a tree in the morning. However, he was here and didn't seem to grasp just how much he'd terrified him tonight.

He looked back at John, his face transfixed in misery. Arthur lowered his voice. "If I didn't give a damn about anything, about you...do you think I would've rode all the way over here just to find you? Do you think I would've killed that son of a bitch for putting his hands all over you?"

John noticed the sheer amount of need in his voice. He actually seemed upset by the simple fact that another man had him in his clutches. If the night hadn't gone as pear-shaped as it did and John ended up going upstairs enthusiastically with someone else, would he still feel the same?

"So what is it? You don't want me but no one else can have me?" John responded bitterly, his eyes becoming narrow slits.

"That's not it and you know that. Fuck..." Arthur searched around for the right words before he pulled up a chair, sitting himself in front of John so he'd be forced to maintain eye contact. "I came back to camp this morning so I could talk to you about what happened. In Valentine...yeah, I'm sorry for runnin'. That wasn't right. But when I got there, I bought a girl and I...I couldn't go through with it."

John looked at him, filled with more questions than he had answers for. What exactly happened in Valentine?

"I was there, she was beautiful...but she weren't you. I couldn't shake that, I tried. And I felt fuckin' wrong because I've known you since you were a boy and you're so damn young....."

John grunted, frustrated at what Arthur had just said. "See that, there? I'm not a damn kid anymore. Haven't been for a long time, Arthur. Fuck...." He leaned forward, grabbing the sides of Arthur's face, staring into those deep blue eyes of his. He could see that he was holding onto a lot of guilt over something that he shouldn't have ever felt guilty about. "I'm a man and I want you. I've always wanted you. Why can't you want me back?"

Arthur shut his eyes, running his palms over the back of John's hands, feeling like his heart was slowly being torn out. "I do. Fuck, I..." He tried to swallow back tears. "I love you, John. That's why I couldn't go through with it. That's why I rode here tonight. That's why I couldn't leave with Mary. I love you, so much."

John leaned back, looking Arthur in the face. It was like he had been fighting this thing for a long time and had finally given up and decided to throw himself into the carnage. However there was still something gnawing at him.

"Hey, hey...look at me." John said, gently, waiting for him to open his eyes. "You ain't wrong. Far from it. You are...you're the most wonderful person I've ever known, Arthur Morgan. I adore you, but you've gotta stop treating me like a damn kid."

Mirroring their behaviour from the riverbank, they leaned their foreheads against one another, just breathing in the scent of the other. It was as if they were making some silent prayer to whoever was out there that they could just have this moment for as long as possible. 

Arthur's voice had crept down to a whisper. "All I wanted was to protect you. This world...it don't like people like us, John. People don't care for us. I'm sorry for pushing you away like I did, but I just wanted to keep you safe from all of that."

John leaned back, looking directly back at the elder man. "Our world isn't safe already; you and me, we're outlaws. We live on the run or in hiding, constantly. But if you'll have me, I'll gladly share my world with you. All of it."

Arthur exhaled, overcome with the feelings that John had tapped into; the same ones he thought were long gone. That fear that they wouldn't be accepted still lingered heavily in the air, however Arthur felt that even though they would inevitably struggle with living their most honest life, he was worth every part of it. He leaned forward, kissing the younger man gently at first, only to get pulled into a kiss that was hungrier, more desperate and laden with absolute need. A need that had built up for years.

The younger man had begun to lean back until he was flush against the bed, pulling Arthur down with him. His senses seemed less dulled by the alcohol and more amplified, like he could feel every swipe of his tongue, his hands just pulling him in closer, his teeth scraping against his lips. It all sent an all-too-familiar longing to his cock that was begging for touch.

He maneuvered his head down to Arthur's neck, his eyes fluttering at the feeling of John planting languid kisses down his neck. He could get lost in this feeling, even though he could feel the scratch of his stubble against his throat.

John ground his hips desperately into Arthur's, almost whining at the sensation of him being in the same predicament as himself. "Touch me, Arthur....please."

The older man stared down at John; how could someone look so innocent yet so wanton all at once? Still, his conscience nagged at him- he couldn't ignore the traces of alcohol still present on his tongue and while he was no stranger to tumbling into bed drunk, he didn't want their first time to be marred by his inebriation. He couldn't even keep steady on his feet earlier; he wouldn't be in his right mind to consent to something like this. Hell, what if he didn't even remember anything in the morning?

He dropped his head, already exasperated by what he was going to do. "I can't."

John grabbed the back of his neck. "No, no, no....why not?" It was like he was a kid, begging for someone to reconsider giving him candy.

Arthur closed his hand over John's, using his other hand to brush some of the hair out of John's eyes. "Believe me, I want to....so much. But you're drunk as a skunk and it wouldn't be right." He felt like he was betraying his body, but he knew this was the right thing to do. As much as his body begged him to rip off John's clothes and fuck him into the mattress until he couldn't breathe, he couldn't be selfish now; one more night wouldn't kill them.

"Please, I'll be fine, I just need you." John begged, his hands scrambling to pull Arthur in closer, to reconsider. 

Arthur slid his hand down to old John's still, finally rolling off him. "Tell ya what- we sleep through the night, together. You wake up in the morning and don't remember a thing then ok, we'll head on back to camp and we forget it ever happened," He tried so hard to hide his disappointment over that being a probable outcome. "You remember it all...and I'll make love to you. However you want."

John exhaled in annoyance, throwing himself back onto the pillows. "Why've you gotta be so damn honourable all the time?"

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at John's whining. "Stops men like you from doin' something foolish that you'll regret."

The younger man sighed as somewhere in his mind, he understood where Arthur was coming from. Arthur didn't want this to be a drunken one night stand where they would wake up, ashamed that they'd ever laid a hand on one another. His feelings were real and as much as John wanted to be touched, this was enough for now.

"Can we keep kissin' at least? 'Til we fall asleep? I really like that." He asked, turning his head back to face Arthur.

Arthur smiled to one side. "Sure."


	6. Tangled, Stolen, Buried Up To Our Necks in Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning has come and the question remains; does John remember anything from last night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone; here's my new chapter! Please go gentle, I wrote a lot of this on my new phone and the autocorrect on it is super annoying. Also I fear I may have used their names too much but oh well, I hope you like it anyway. As always, I genuinely love reading comments so leave them if you're enjoying the story so far.

_We are tangled_  

_We are stolen_

_We are buried up to our necks in sand_

Arthur could see the sunlight slowly pouring into their room as he watched John's chest rise and fall. Considering the hurricane of emotions they had gone through only hours before, it was nice to have this brief moment of calm. He looked so contented while he slept; Arthur's hands were tucked neatly within John's while his arm held him close. It was a position that was new for the both of them, but to Arthur had felt like he'd come home.

Peace was not a luxury that men like themselves were afforded all to often, so this brief moment was an absolute treasure. 

God, it was almost like John was at his most beautiful under his arm like this; his warmth radiating through Arthur's fingertips, tempting him to hold him just that little bit closer. Arthur wondered for a moment if John could feel his heartbeat through his spine.

However, there was also the cold realisation that John could also wake up and not remember a damn thing about the night before; he had been drinking pretty heavily by the time Arthur found him and despite the beautiful exchange that followed once they were behind closed doors...It triggered a fear that Arthur knew he had a strong possibility of facing up to.

So for the time being, he held him close, breathing in his scent, trying to commit each feeling to memory so that maybe if things did go down the path of being forgotten, he would at least have this.

John had begun to move a little bit, indicating that he'd just started waking up. The knowledge of him almost being conscious sent a jolt through Arthur- one attached to longing, curiosity and the need to know one thing: did he remember how Arthur felt?

"Mmmm...mornin'." John grunted, hissing at the pain in his head. "Don't ever let me drink again."

Arthur backed up a little, propping himself up to get a better look at John. "Duly noted."

_Did he remember anything?_

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't happen to have any health cure or anythin', do ya?" At that point in time, John was almost ready to cut his own head off if it meant that the migraine would stop.

Arthur stood up without a word, looking around for his satchel so he could gut it. Surely enough, he kept a few bottles of Hosea's own Health Cure, ready to cure of everything that ailed them, even if those ailments were self inflicted.

"Here ya go." Arthur passed him the bottle, watching John down it without so much as a thought.

As he saw the man lay back and wait for the tincture to kick in, he couldn't help but be lost for words. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say- all he wanted to ask was if he remembered anything about the night before. Nonetheless, it got stuck in his throat as he thought about the consequences that question could incur; what happened if he didn't remember? Would Arthur then have to tell him? Would he be able to mask his devastation if he didn't remember? How would he be able to look him in the eye knowing that he poured his heart out to him, only for all memory of it to be lost to drink?

"H-how're you feelin'?" He managed, finally breaking the silence.

"I'll be better once this kicks in; Hosea's cures are always a little better than the stuff from the store." John managed, seeming to have woken up a little more. He made himself a little more comfortable on the bed, never breaking his stare with the older man.

Arthur scrambled for a few more things to say. "As long as you're feeling better, that's the main thing...." before he knew it, he could feel that question coming out of his throat. "How much d'ya remember of last night?"

John looked like he was searching for any kind of memory to lay out as an example. "I remember drinkin' a lot- headache ain't gonna let me forget for a while,"

_'Not a great start.'_ Arthur thought.

"I remember kissing someone I shouldn't have,"

_'Was that me or the fucker I put a bullet in?'_

"I remember you coming up and killin' the sonofabitch,"

_'Ok, so he remembers that.'_

"I remember you taking me here,"

Time felt like it was ticking by at a painfully slow rate as Arthur stood near the bed, speechless and hanging onto John's every word.

"I remember us arguin' about you goin' to Valentine and me coming here,"

John sat silently for a minute, savouring what he was about to say.

"I remember you saying you couldn't sleep with that girl because she weren't me....and that you loved me. And that you felt wrong and only wanted to protect me. I ain't forgetting that in a hurry."

His eyes were pulling him in as they stared at Arthur, looking for any kind of reaction from the older man. Sure enough, he finally managed to speak.

"A-and how do you feel this morning?" The hope he had, the hope that John was teasing him with had made him stumble over his words.

"Honestly, I'm feeling a little cheated if I'm honest with ya," John tried not to laugh at the horror across Arthur's face. "You said you'd make love to me, however I wanted in the morning if I remembered it all. It's morning, I remember it all....So what the hell are we doin'?"

Arthur exhaled with relief and desire. His hopes had been realised. All he wanted to do was leap over and cover John in kisses, he was so happy. However, he had to be practical.

"Well, I'm goin' downstairs to buy us another night in this joint. You are gon' go in there and start havin' a bath. We both smell like hell and I wanna do this right."

John whined back into the bed. This man would be the death of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur was gone for all of ten minutes while he shelled out another five dollars for another night in the Bayview. Sure enough, the same woman was down at the front counter, still engrossed in her magazine.

"That good, huh?" She responded once he handed the money over.

Arthur let out a small, approving grunt, tipping his hat, trying not to let her see the hardness developing in his pants in anticipation of finally sleeping with John. All of those lonely, lust-filled nights had been worth it and while the circumstances that had led them here had not been the best, they were finally here and he couldn't have been more thrilled.

Going up the stairs, he'd began to think- he'd have to be gentle if John needed. He didn't know his experience with men, if he'd even had any at all, but he'd have to fight any urge to just ram his cock into him. Unless John wanted to fuck him, in which case he was pretty sure he had some of Hosea's skin salve handy; made a wonderful lubricant when used just right....

He'd reached the door of their room without even realising. He could hear the water being poured into the tub by the bucketload. He took a deep breath before turning the handle and entering the room.

John's ears pricked up at the sound of the door handle being turned. He was back, and it was enough to send a pull of excitement to his belly. 

"You're a fuckin' cocktease, Arthur- y'know that?" He said, filling the bath. Thankfully he was almost done.

Arthur came up behind John, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing his neck. "Punish me later."

John turned around, leaning in for one of those sweet kisses that Arthur could very easily get used to. On paper, his taste shouldn't be this good- traces of Hosea's Health Cure mixed with the memories of whatever he was drinking last night. However, it was so uniquely John that all he could do was keep pulling him in, trying to make up for all the time that they'd lost.

The younger man was still struggling to believe it; Arthur loved him back. Arthur loved him. Arthur wanted him. He could feel how much Arthur wanted him through the denim of his pants as they kissed and that feeling alone was nothing short of absolutely intoxicating.

He'd moved from his lips, down to his neck as his fingers fumbled with Arthur's buttons. "Get in with me?"

Arthur chuckled. "In case you drown?"

John smiled back. "You know I can't swim."

The older man tucked some of John's hair behind his ear. "I got you."

That was all John needed to hear. All he'd ever wanted. Soon enough, their clothes were nothing but scattered fabric on the floor, both climbing into the tub as naked as the day they were born, albeit decorated with scars befitting the outlaw life they both led. This was by no means the first time they had seen one another naked as it was par for the course of camp living, but being here in this room where they could enjoy the sight of one another's body without being worried about being found out by another member of camp...they couldn't help but stare at all of the landscape of the other, fingertips heavy with the need to explore.

"Wow..." John let slip, staring all the way from Arthur's chest, decorated with hair down to his rather hard cock. He knew he was well endowed from the rumours around camp, but to see it in person as opposed to just imagining it...it was a fight to not just moan at the sight alone.

"Might wanna pick your jaw up from the floor there, Marston." Arthur chuckled.

He had to admit, it felt nice to be lusted over like this, especially by John who was just so damn pretty. Beneath the scars that he just wanted to run his lips and tongue all over, there was a lithe body with a thin stripe of hair just leading down to an impressive cock, already leaking in anticipation. Was going to be difficult to not just throw caution to the wind and fuck him against the wall, but this night was about him.

Once both men were seated into the warm water, they couldn't help but just take a moment to appreciate the warmth of the water enveloping their skin, washing away the scurf of the past few days. However, Arthur felt that John was too far away at the other end of the tub.

"You don't have to sit all the way over there, y'know." He said, smiling to one side.

John took it as his cue to move across until his body was almost flush against Arthur's. Even in the warm water, he could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Turn around." Arthur asked. The young man complied, only to get pulled into the elder's lap by the waist. The sudden movement made John gasp in both stock and anticipation.

Arthur himself couldn't deny how much he enjoyed having John seated right over his burgeoning erection, he kept calm. 'Plenty of time for that later.' He thought.

He placed a gentle kiss between John's shoulder blades before grabbing a washcloth. "Dunno who raised you, but washing behind the ears ain't optional."

John laughed. "Well if you're in here with me, I might have a bath more often."

Arthur tightened his grip around John's waist, pulling him in closer. He wanted to take care of him, he'd always wanted to take care of him. There was an odd pleasure in all of this; it wasn't necessarily erotic but he felt at home just making sure he was nice and clean and looked after; like he could gladly spend his life doing this. Plus it didn't hurt that he was skin-to-skin with him either.

Feeling Arthur's embrace, John was taken back to the last time they shared a bedroll out by Bluewater Marsh when he was nigh on freezing; it was a memory that he had treasured throughout the years, but it hadn't even come close to what was happening now. Still, there was a nagging question at the back of his mind that he'd only realised had slipped out when it was over.

"Did you ever do this for Mary?"

As soon as he said that, he felt like he'd just completely shattered this wonderful moment between Arthur and himself. However, the older man maintained his composure.

"Actually, no...not like this."

John couldn't help but smile before his voice crept down to a whisper. "Y-you said you couldn't leave with her...cuz of me? Why?"

Arthur sighed, trying to find the right words. "I couldn't. She...wanted me to be something I wasn't. To get an honest job like everyone else. I've been with Dutch and you all since I was young myself...You're my damn family and you don't just abandon them. Mostly though," John felt his arm tighten around him. "I didn't want to leave you. I couldn't. Then I felt awful because you were so young and I shouldn't have felt that way..."

John cut him off by leaning back into his shoulder, breathing with a sense of peace about all this. "You got nothin' to be feelin' bad about. I probably would've been over the damn moon if you'd come runnin' after me instead."

Arthur smiled. It felt good letting go of all of his fear, guilt and anxiety that he'd been hauling around with him for years. "She was a good woman and I did love her but she weren't you. No matter how much I wanted her to be." He kissed his shoulder before leaning in to his ear. "Was hard to not yell out the wrong name sometimes."

John burst out with laughter. "I actually did." He couldn't see it but he knew Arthur was smiling at that.

"With Miss Roberts?" It seemed nothing had gotten past him in camp.

John nodded his head, almost shamefully. "I was lonely and you've seen her, she's beautiful..."

The older man understood. Of course he did- by that stage he had no claim to John, no real right to feel any kind of jealousy when he saw them tumbling into his tent...didn't mean it didn't come anyway.

"Yeah, she is, but..." Arthur began, trying to coax an answer out of him.

"She weren't you." John responded, leaning back into Arthur's touch as the older man snaked his hands up to his chest, pulling him closer as he planted languid kisses along his neck and spine.

"Well, now you got me." John could hear the contentedness in his voice. 

"And you got me. Took you long enough."

Arthur returned to kissing his neck, each time going a little bit harder, making sure his touch would sink in to John's skin. John's eyelids fluttered at the feeling of his tongue, his lips, his hands on his body...he could feel that he was grinding his hips into Arthur's erection.

"Nothin' you ain't comfortable with, ok? You don't like something, say _'stop'_ and I'll stop."

John nodded, breathless. He wanted Arthur to touch him so much he could feel his body scream.

Arthur's used one of his hands to brace John's chest while the other crept lower, down his abs until he could feel his cock. He took it in his hands, making John moan at the touch.

"So what were you thinking about, that night you yelled out my name?"

Desire pooled into John's belly as Arthur worked up a steady rhythm. His touch was not like his own; he could tell he was being careful, but each swipe of his fingers...it was so much better than being on his own.

"Fuck..." John breathed, trying to keep his mind on the question. "I-I was thinking about...you....in my mouth."

That imagery tickled Arthur's senses as it was something he'd thought about often when alone.

"I think...of you...being in you."

The older man noted his use of the word _'think_ ', present tense rather than _'thought'_ , past tense. Thankfully Arthur was partial to receiving just as much as he was giving.

"Is that what you wanna do? You wanna fuck me, Marston?" 

His voice was deep and honeyed as he delivered these obscenities; sounds that only served to make John's body slacken under his touch. If he didn't know any better, it was as if he were slowly turning to liquid.

"Yeah...Soonnnnn..." John dragged out the end of his words when Arthur's hands had felt _particularly_ good. "Really want...you to...fuck me."

Arthur felt a sense of pride when John had punctuated the end of his sentence with a deep moan, indicating he was getting closer. It didn't hurt that John was now squirming a little more, grinding his arse even further into Arthur.

"Whatever you want, John...Just enjoy this right now."

John could only manage a desperate whine in response to Arthur picking up his pace, using his fingers like an expertly trained musician to John's instrument of a body. He didn't last long until he spilled out into the bathwater with a cry, trembling into Arthur's arms before leaning back.

"I got you." Arthur said, placing his head upon John's shoulders. That sight of John in just absolute bliss was one he would treasure forever.

When John finally came back down to Earth, he turned around, kissing Arthur slow and deep like there was an underlying appreciation he was trying to communicate to the older man. "You are way too good at that."

Arthur grinned. "Why thank you."

Even in post-orgasmic bliss, John was still impatient as ever. He sunk his hand down to Arthur's own hard cock; it must've been absolutely aching by this stage. "When can I do that to you?"

Arthur gasped at the touch. "Soon..." He pushed a little of John's hair behind his ear, staring into those deep eyes he couldn't get enough of. "But first, let's get you dried off."


	7. Luck, Fate, The Feeling You Get In The Golden State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and John finally make love for the first time, after years of pining for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all; sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter out! It was kind of difficult to write as I tend to go into my head a fair bit whenever I'm writing smut (used their named too much, laid on the sap a bit too thick but whateverrrrr), however it is here! Please bear with me, I wrote a lot of this chapter on my phone which is new and hence, has some sketchy autocorrect so there's bound to be the odd spelling mistake or grammatical fuckup somewhere. As always though, I absolutely adore reading your comments so please feel free to leave them!
> 
> Enjoy :D

_We are luck_

_We are fate_

_We are the feeling you get in the golden state_

Both men were barely dry before they made it to the bed.

John couldn't resist pulling Arthur in for a deep, hungry kiss, his body aching with the need for more of what Arthur gave him. More of him everywhere. He could feel Arthur's big hands just roaming around his body, trying to make a memory of each muscle, each fibre on his lithe, scarred frame. From the feel of his mouth on his own, he could tell that Arthur had the very same need that was spreading throughout him.

The back of John's knees hit the bedspread, prompting him to sit down against it. He was at eye level with Arthur's aching cock, standing at attention. John instinctively moved forward, enveloping his mouth around the older man's leaking member.

"F-fuuuuuuck...." Arthur breathed at the sudden contact. 

John tried to remember each thing that Abigail tried on him back during their little tryst, years ago. Apart from her, the only real experience he'd had was on his own, with his own hand so he wrapped one of his hands around the base, moving it time with his mouth. He felt Arthur's hand moving through his hair, moving him in time.

Arthur could feel whines and moans coming out of his chest through his throat with very little control; this can't have been John's first time with his mouth around a man's cock. He just felt so perfect and the sight that he was taking in was better than anything else he'd ever dreamt up during his time alone. 

"Good...so gooooodnnnnhhhh." Arthur moaned, feeling himself go weak at the knees, his chest becoming heavy.

John responded with a few approving murmur's, trying in earnest to go a little faster and deeper before he could feel Arthur's fingers clench in his hair.

"Stop." The older man commanded.

John pulled off him, breathing with fear creeping down his spine. He looked up at Arthur "Did I do something wrong?"

Arthur's expression softened, before he leaned down to kiss John gently. "No, you didn't do nothin' wrong....You're a little  _too_ good at that. Ain't gonna last long if you keep that up."

The younger man couldn't help but feel a bit of pride in that as Arthur began to kiss his neck, crawling onto the bed himself. The two men moved until John was against the headboard, staring into Arthur's eyes.

"What do you like? How can I be good for you?" Arthur asked in earnest.

John licked his lips for a moment, choosing his words wisely. "Got anything...slick....in that satchel of yours?"

Arthur didn't need any more instruction- he had a tin of Hosea's skin salve in his satchel; good for scrapes, cuts, burns and whenever you wanted to fuck someone in a place that didn't lubricate on its own. He pulled out the tin out of his satchel, placing it next to John. John in turn took Arthur's hand, coating his index finger in the gel before lowering it down to his own entrance, pulling him in with a groan that downright pornographic.

"That's good." the young man managed, sighing as Arthur inched in.

Arthur could barely comprehend the sight in front of him- he'd practically had his hand dragged inside John, tightening around his index finger. In tandem with the sight of him enjoying the feel of his fingers, Arthur could only think of what led John to discover that this was what he liked; how many nights he spent with Hosea's skin salve.

"You can move, it's ok." John said, prompting Arthur to slowly rock his hand in and out. The sounds he was pulling out of the younger man couldn't have been more beautiful if it were church angels singing.

"More." John breathed between his gasps.

Arthur added a finger and increased his pace, getting lost in the sight of John's cheeks becoming flushed with pleasure as he melted into the bed. His back was arching off the bed, feeling Arthur prod at that spot that just sent waves of aching throughout his system.

"So when did you find out that you liked this?" Arthur asked.

"When I first startednnnnnggghh......" John found it harder and harder to speak. "Thinking about you. Like thatOH!"

Arthur would never get tired of that sound.

John lifted his head with a hungry lust in his eyes that was enough to inflame his chest with desire. "Need you in me. Now."

The older man took his marching orders, pulling his slick fingers out of John and crawling up to a point where his cock was just nudging at his entrance. He grabbed the base of his cock, positioning it correctly before he hesitated.

"What's wrong?" John asked, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck.

"Have you...done anything like this before?" Arthur asked.

John shook his head. "Didn't want to with anyone but you."

Arthur smiled before kissing him deeply. "Nothing you ain't comfortable with, ok? You say stop and I'll stop."

John ran his hand down the side of Arthur's face. "You ain't done nothing I'm not comfortable with. I've wanted this...for longer than I can remember. I love you."

Arthur felt like he was home; this is what he'd wanted himself for years and here John was, giving himself over to him so wantonly. However, he knew that he wasn't going to just leave once the sun rose; he'd spent just as much time as Arthur had longing for him. How he felt...it was pure love.

"I love you too." Arthur whispered before thrusting his hips into John, knocking a deep groan out of him as his eyes rolled back into his head.

"You alright?" Arthur asked, keeping still while John adjusted.

"Yeah, I...." John breathed. "Fuck, you're huge."

The older man chuckled and kissed his forehead. "Ain't gonna move until you tell me."

John took a few moments to adjust to the foreign feeling; this was very different to when he was on his own with his fingers or whatever implement was handy. For one, he didn't have Arthur above him, peppering his collarbones with kisses. 

Arthur on the other hand was doing whatever he could to not tale advantage of being on top; while he couldn't put a price on just how good it felt to be inside John at last, he knew he had to move at his pace.

"Try movin'." John said after a while.

Like a loyal soldier, Arthur followed his orders, slowly thrusting into the younger man with caution and restraint. He didn't want to hurt him, but so far he hadn't heard any cue to stop. With each small sigh that grew into a moan however, his mind began to settle.

John's fingers began to dig into his flanks, urging him to go faster, harder, deeper. 

"God...damn...." He breathed in time with Arthur's thrusts. "So good. You'reUNNNNH! So good at this!"

Arthur couldn't get enough of the layer of desire deep within his smoky voice; his voice was already enough to send lust coursing through him like a virus, but this had it's own beauty.

"Just wanna..." Arthur hissed, trying to prolong their activities. "Just wanna make it good for you."

"You are!" John's response was a little more needy than he'd intended. "Just....pull outta me, please."

Arthur couldn't understand- he thought John was enjoying everything? He certainly sounded like he was. Still, true to his word, he pulled his cock out of the younger man and sat back, waiting for him to become comfortable.

Instead, John rolled onto his front, propping himself up on all fours while holding the headboard, exposing his manhood and his hole as he held open one of arsecheeks, presenting them.

"I want you to fuck me like this. Please."

The older man could feel all of his senses being assaulted; his smell by the scent of sex hanging in the air, his taste by the flavour of John's skin on his and now his vision, with the sight of John's looking absolutely obscene like this. In all of his darkest fantasies, he couldn't have dreamt up just how erotic John would look like this.

He couldn't resist the urge to pull his cock a few times before crawling towards the younger man. He licked up his spine, finishing between his shoulders with an urgent kiss, his teeth scraping along his skin. In turn, John pulled his hand back to clutch Arthur's hair. The younger man gasped once Arthur was inside him.

"Ohhhnnnnnn......" Both men moaned in tandem.

John adjusted his grip against the headboard, making sure he had the right footing before he got what he wanted. "Move." 

Arthur dug his fingertips into John's flanks, leaning down towards his ear. "God you're a demanding thing, aren't you?"

He ended his sentence with thrusting into John; not too hard as to not split the young man in half, but just enough to elicit some encouraging groans out of him. It took everything for Arthur to maintain some kind of control over his movements, to not just slam his cock into him hard and fast, fucking him into the mattress. However, the longing that he had tried to keep under wraps for all of these years was finally able to come out and was now bordering on uncontrollable.

"I ain't made of glass, come on!" John whined, pushing back further onto Arthur.

The older man felt like a caged lion while John was a piece of meat being dangled outside of the bars; it'd become harder to control himself, what with John being so demanding like this. The need in his voice, the pure want radiating off of his body...it set something in him that had long since been dormant on fire and he could no longer find a good reason to try to contain it.

"Nothin' you ain't comfortable with." Arthur all but growled into John's ear before wrapping his arm around the younger man's chest, thrusting into him deep enough to get John to cry out in pleasure.

"YES!" He sobbed as Arthur rested his forehead between John's shoulder blades, trying to keep up his momentum. He didn't want to finish too early, but he and John had a steady rhythm now, like waves crashing onto a beach; rolling in and out with each tide.

John could feel himself coming undone as each of his senses felt heightened with each moment that Arthur was in him. The feel of his fingertips sent electric sparks through his skin. He could feel the older man's heartbeat through his chest, the sound of it echoing in his ears. He wanted to join to Arthur as much as he could, for them to melt into one another if it meant they could stay together.

Arthur could only compare being inside John to having inhaled some kind of potent drug that was now coursing throughout his body. His scent in particular was intoxicating, as if each pore of his skin was pushing out a pollen made especially to draw him in and change all rational thought he had to just pure lust. If he wasn't holding onto John, he would've splintered into a million pieces under the pressure of his own pleasure.

The feeling of Arthur's breath on his spine was enough to send shivers not just up it but all throughout John's body.

"Wanted you for so goddamn long..." he heard Arthur strain.

John weaved his fingers into Arthur's. "You've got me!" he whimpered.

They fit together. They were made to fit together.

Hips slammed against hips, fingers dug into skin, timber and bedsheets, skin burned against skin, all the while becoming consumed by their desire for one another, their need to just get closer after many years spent apart. Each touch was exploratory, trying to find out as much as they could about eachother.

"Gettin' really close, Arthur." John breathed.

With that, Arthur pulled out of John, eliciting confusion and a feeling of abandonment out of the man. "Why'd you stop?" the younger man whined.

Arthur crawled towards the headboard, sitting up against with with his jaw slack and eyes clouded with hunger. "I want you to ride me to the finish."

Without hesitation, John propped himself up and swung his leg over Arthur's lap. He leaned back, finding his cock as to position it correctly before sitting on it, moaning once it was inside. As soon as he was properly seated, Arthur threw his arms around him, kissing his neck.

"Wanna see you when you come." Arthur groaned into his neck.

John sighed, moving his hips into Arthur, watching just how much this man seemed to adore the sight of him riding him like this. Even in this position, he felt so full with that spot inside him getting the full force of what Arthur had to offer. More than that however, he could feel just how much Arthur wanted him, from the fingertips digging into the small of his back to the lips on his neck to the warmth emitting off him.

For Arthur, he was completely enamoured by the sight in front of him as it was one that had carried him through many lonely nights in his cot. However it wasn't just that alone; this was John. This wasn't some cheap imitation he'd found in the city to quell his feelings, this was him, after all this time. 

John leaned down to kiss him in such a way that was deep and pleading, like he just wanted the man to stay with him now that they'd finally come together. As such, Arthur returned that same plea, pulling him closer in the hope he'd never have to let him go.

Before long, John's movements became erratic as he inched closer and closer to the edge.

"Real close now." John managed.

"Me too, nnngghhhh...." Arthur moaned. He could feel his skin pushing out beads of sweat.

"Touch me..." John pleaded just mere inches away from Arthur's mouth.

The younger man groaned as Arthur swept up his lips in a kiss and wrapped his hand around John's cock, making sure he could feel each swipe of his thumbs as he neared his finish. He kept his other hand on the small of John's back, steadying him into a more consistent rhythm; Arthur could feel that he wasn't far off himself.

John's hands cradled one side of Arthur's face while the other clawed through his hair, trying desperately to last a little longer, to please the older man. He could feel his cried becoming more desperate, more strangled....any kind of thought in his head was now gone, any kind of worry in the back of his mind had evaporated, all that existed now was Arthur and his need to lose himself in him.

"Fuck, 'm gonna..." John whined into Arthur's shoulder, feeling as though he was approaching his finish like a train without a brake.

"Just enjoy. I've got you." Arthur breathed, long and laboured. His blue eyes were both piercing yet oddly warm, inviting him to stay. "Just look at me." He said as he moved his hand up to pull John's forehead into his own.

They were entwined now. Two strings of the same stitch. Two bodies, melting together in absolute pleasure. Two people, who were finally here, together, in absolute ecstasy that they had long dreamed about and who wanted nothing more than to hold onto that for as long as they were still breathing. This was more than just sex or raw lust; they loved eachother.

"OHHHNNNNNHHHHHHHHH!" John moaned, splattering Arthur's hand and stomach with semen, shuddering as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.

Arthur moved his hands to John's shoulders, trying to stop him from toppling over. He couldn't ignore just how good the younger man tightening around him felt as he continued to move inside him. It wasn't long before his own orgasm was ripped from him, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from the depths of his lungs as his hips stilled and he clenched his eyes shut, breathing in sobs into John's shoulder.

John planted small, thankful kisses atop the crown of Arthur's head as they both came down to Earth. As the older man raised his head, John could notice a look akin to melancholy in his deep, blue eyes.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

Arthur swallowed before speaking. "If this is all we can have, John...Just know that I enjoyed all of it. Wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

John didn't understand...did Arthur think he was going to leave straight after they'd made love?

"What do you mean, Arthur? Are you sayin' you don't want any more?"

"No, I..." Arthur could feel the uncertainty in his heart beginning to break it. "I just meant...if you felt...if you wanted to...." Arthur didn't want to let John go by any means, but he was used to abandonment at this point; the people he loved the most always had a tendency to leave him after they'd gotten what they wanted from him and it was better to get it out of the way now and grieve before his attachment became too deep.

John pushed the hair out of Arthur's eyes. "I want you. I've always wanted you. I love you, Arthur...that doesn't change because of what we've done. Just the opposite," he kissed his forehead. "You've got a hold on me now. I don't think I can go back to not being near you like this. You're the one I want to wake up to of a morning and the last I want to see when I sleep."

He wrapped his arms around the older man, feeling relieved when he felt a set of arms tightening around him. He squeezed just a little tighter just to let the man know how much he wanted to keep him close.

"I love you, John Marston. Always have, always will." Arthur said, mustering a smile that to an outsider would be small, but to John meant everything.

"I am in love with you, Arthur Morgan. I ain't letting you go, I ain't goin' anywhere." John finished his sentence with a gentle kiss.

Arthur was awash in relief. John loved him. He loved him and wasn't going to leave. He'd _chosen_ him. No one had ever chosen him before and now the person he'd wanted the most had chosen him. It was hard to not just cry at the prospect of not being so damn lonely anymore.

"Besides...." John said once he'd pulled away. "We have all day...and all night to...enjoy one another." His smile was downright devious. "What're you thinking?"

Arthur smiled to one side. "I've got a few ideas."


End file.
